


Special Effect

by Hollandoodle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Moulage, SFX makeup, foot in mouth, play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 06:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13242312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hollandoodle/pseuds/Hollandoodle
Summary: Sansa is enlisted to help with Margaery's play production, and makes a slight faux pas when she meets the propmaker.





	Special Effect

"Soooooo, is this a porno with violence?"

 

Sansa eyed Margaery, who was grinning wickedly. 

 

"No, no, it's not a porno, it's a play, but the scene is a sex scene where the woman--"

 

"You."

 

"--Yes, me. Where the woman is rescued by her man and then they have sex. But there's a fight scene and there needs to be wounds revealed under the man's clothes."

 

"The man being Bronn..." 

 

Sansa wasn't sure if she was getting all the details right. She finally just took a small notebook out of her bag and started jotting down notes.

 

"Yes, Bronny is playing my boyfriend--isn't that funny?--and I'll need you to dress him up and make him look like he's been beaten up. We'll stash some fake blood in the scene so he can slap some on his mouth after he's been punched. And there will be a couple other people to put cuts on, but just two, I think."

 

"Wounds inflicted by an uninjured assailant?"

 

"Yesss," Margaery said, sounding exasperated.

 

"Not by you."

 

"Sansa!"

 

"Okay, sorry, sorry, just trying to get all of this straight. Wasn't sure if there was some S & M stuff going on in your play."

 

Sansa's friend had been in a drama class where her play was chosen by the class to be performed at the end of the semester, and the planning stage was almost finished. All that was needed were the final touches to some costumes and finalizing plans for the special effects makeup, to be done by Sansa.

 

Kid birthday party face painter by day, morbid movie makeup artist by night--she liked to keep her options open. Since she was Margaery's best friend, and because Margaery had caught her one day in a moment of  _ love for her friend induced weakness _ , she had offered to do it for free as a favor to the spunky senior.

 

Bronn himself had been a senior four years ago, but decided to keep changing his major when he met Margie, who was fresh out of high school. To say it had been love at first sight was putting it mildly. The world had disappeared when they first laid eyes on each other, and now they were inseparable.

 

Nevertheless, that’s how Sansa found herself backstage during the play’s intermission, at King’s Landing University, with the student actors milling about and waiting to go back on stage. Sansa was secluded in the corner of Margaery's changing room--a.k.a. the theater office--with Bronn and his lady, all her supplies laid out on the edge of the cleared off desk.

 

"Bronn, stop touching Margaery and come here," Sansa was saying, though she felt like she should not have had to point out that the play resumed in fifteen minutes. Still, it took nearly thirty seconds for Bronn to listen to her.

 

When he sat down, Margaery went to follow him, and Sansa gave her a look.

 

"Okay, okay, I'll just be here behind you." Margaery's lithe body sauntered past Sansa, her sultry eyes fixated on Bronn as she added, "Changing into my costume."

 

Sansa closed her eyes and let her head fall back in exasperation. At least she had the hope that watching Margaery would keep Bronn still while she was putting the fake cuts and bruising on him.

 

While Bronn stripped off his shirt and the sounds of Margaery slipping out of her clothes came to Sansa's ears, she prepped her materials. It only took a moment, and she almost chuckled out loud at the little boy face Bronn was making at Margaery--eyes focused, mouth open, sitting stock still in the chair Sansa had directed him to. 

 

It was almost comical.

 

That was, until she tried giving him any direction, such as where to turn his head, turn his body, lift his arm...

 

"Margaery, I can't do this with you distracting him like that. Put the clothes back on."

 

"Okay, okay," came the husky chuckle, and she must have done something that made Bronn grin like a cheshire cat. "I was just putting on a little show for my man, there."

 

"Focus on the real show and maybe he won't end up looking like I drew on him with permanent marker. Or, if you want it to look like a fourth grader did it, keep it up."

 

But Sansa wasn't really upset. She liked Bronn. He had been good for Margaery, taming her when no other man had been able to. Margaery had never been a one-man woman, but when she'd met Bronn and had gone on and on about that love at first sight stuff, she had also started planning her wedding. There'd been no word on when that was going to happen, but Margaery had a binder hidden in their shared apartment, about which Sansa was sworn to secrecy.

 

By the look on Bronn's face, Sansa guessed he wouldn't be too upset by the contents of that binder. Especially the lingerie collage.

 

There was a knock on the door and Margaery called out, "Hang on!" while she apparently put on some last piece of clothing--Sansa didn't know, as she was focused on painting the inside of Bronn's fake facial lacerations with maroon grease paint.

 

She heard the door open as Margaery answered the knock.

 

"Sandor! Yay! Did you bring it?"

 

Sansa was focused on her work and hissed in dissatisfaction when Bronn jerked over to the side.

 

"Hey brother!" 

 

"Damnit, Bronn."

 

Sansa would have to peel that cut off and start over.

 

"What? Just saying hello." He turned those puppy dog eyes on her but she had no mercy. She got the impression he was always amused by her lack of simpering attraction when he looked at her like that, all crinkly eyes and disarming, charming smile.

 

"Do you want to look like a second-grader did this?"

 

He grinned, and... Well, okay, he had an incredibly charming smile. And she couldn't help but smile back, but then she swatted him on the shoulder.

 

"Get your act together, Bronny," she cooed, using Margaery's nickname for him. He just chuckled and gave a short nod.

 

"Hey Sansa," she heard from directly behind her. Margaery got her attention with her proximity, and Sansa turned. "I want to introduce you to Bronn's friend Sandor."

 

Sansa's eyes slid from Margaery's face to the newcomers, and she had to look up to see him. Faded black Under Armor shirt stretched over muscular pecs, showing massive biceps beneath short sleeves, a thick, hairy neck, to dark brown beard and long hair of the same color, lips peeking out from under a mustache, nose, gray eyes...

 

"Hey, Margaery, I thought I was doing your special effects makeup," she joked self-consciously, but she smiled at the man, despite feeling a certain butterfly sensation in her stomach under his gaze.  _ Lord, is he tall _ .

 

Ever the polite lady--except to perhaps Bronn and her siblings--Sansa moved her brush to her left hand and stuck out her right, ignoring the way the man's eyes were focused on her as she perused the work that had been done to the right side of his face.

 

A large hand slowly came out to grip hers and she forgot that they were touching as she stepped closer, inspecting the calibre of the special effects makeup.

 

"My goodness, I could never make anything look that realistic. Mine looks like kindergarten craft class compared to this. Who did your face?"

 

She walked to his side, hand still in his as she used it to direct him to turn slightly in the opposite direction. 

 

"Wait--let me guess. Shae? With Kingsguard Special Effects? It looks like it could be her work. Goodness, it's so real. Fantastic work." 

 

"Sansa--"

 

"Margaery, look at this." Sansa didn't bother listening to the other woman’s cautious tone. She was too impressed with this Sandor guy’s face. She had seen some good makeup and body art, but  _ come on _ , this was ridiculous.

 

"The shadowing, the way the color looks so realistic..."

 

"But Sansa--"

 

"Geez, Bronn, I wish I could make you look like this. I just haven't been doing it long enough--I don't have the prosthetics, nor the time, really."

 

She glanced back at Bronn, who was still sitting on the chair, not smiling.  _ Huh, he must think this is awkward for me, seeing someone's work that is so much better than mine _ .

 

But it wasn't, as Sansa had always prided herself on being able to recognize good job when she saw one. It was called art appreciation, and her mom had taught her the finest aspects of being respectful of someone else's work.

 

The man, Sandor, was looking over at Bronn, also not smiling. Sansa wondered why he hadn't said anything, but it didn't matter. Maybe he was just quiet. 

 

This makeup was amazing.

 

“Sansa!” Margaery’s voice was bordering on frantic.

 

"Yes, yes, Margaery, in a minute!” Her eyes never left Sandor's face. “And the way she covered up your hair, it's like it's not even there." She stood up on her tiptoes to get a closer look. “Is the beard fake? It looks like--yes, that has to be a prosthesis, the scars and everything, but it's so lifelike! May I?”

 

She reached her other hand up to touch the scars when he suddenly grabbed her wrist and jerked away. Then he dropped both of her hands as though they had burned him.

 

Sansa didn’t understand. 

 

“Hey, I’m just admiring the amazing work.”

 

Then the man growled, “Bronn”--although his grating voice, paired with the murderous look in his eyes, made Bronn’s name sound more like  _ “Hold me back before I strangle her.” _

 

“What… What’s going on,” she said, taking a step back. His eyes were darkened with anger, and she noticed his fist clench and unclench at his side, like he wanted to punch something.

 

That something couldn’t be…  _ her _ ?

 

“Sansa, that’s not makeup,” Margaery was saying gently, her voice tinged with wariness, from just behind Sansa.

 

“Wait--what? No, it’s just really good work.” 

 

Sansa was confused. Why would Margaery say they were real? The workmanship was fantastic. Did she not  _ know _ this man? 

 

“Sansa,” Bronn finally spoke, standing shirtless, so that he faced both Sansa and Sandor. The smile on the shorter man's face was friendly and affable, but the same wariness was present in his eyes when he spoke directly to Sansa. “Meet my friend Sandor Clegane, master carpenter extraordinaire, horribly disfigured as a child by burns inflicted by his asshole of a brother.” 

 

Then he turned to Sandor and waved a hand at Sansa.

 

“Sandor, meet Margaery’s friend Sansa Stark, face painter, apparently budding special effects makeup artist, and queen of speaking out of her bum.”

 

Sansa’s face fell during their awkward introduction, her hand coming to cover her mouth. As her face began to blaze with the heat embarrassment, Sansa cringed at what she had just done . She was mortified and humiliated, but couldn’t come up with anything to say other than, “Oh my god.”

 

“I’ll bring in the bed, Margaery. Just come out and let me know where to put it.” Sandor didn’t need to strangle her with his hands. The contempt in his voice as he glared at Sansa, though the words were spoken to Margaery, was tight as a noose. 

 

_ Holy shit, the scars are real _ . 

 

Sansa felt like scum.

 

“Oh my god,” she said again as Sandor turned on his heel and strode out of the room, ducking as he got to the door. She stared at the space he had just occupied, mouth open and covered by her hand, as Margaery trotted after him down the hallway.

 

“Well,” said Bronn, his smile finally turning slightly less wary and more entertained. “You, my dear, have a size fourteen foot shoved into your mouth. How do you feel?”

 

Sansa turned to him, her hand dropping to her side. If it had been Margaery standing in front of her she likely would have dissolved into tears. She didn’t know what to say to Bronn.

 

So she swallowed and shook her head, thankful that Bronn understood then that she needed a moment to compose herself. He allowed her to work in silence as she processed how badly she had just embarrassed herself, and probably Sandor as well.

 

She was laying down the latex for the cut across his nose when she couldn’t take Bronn’s stares anymore. 

 

“So…” She used a small palette knife to spread out the latex, being careful to keep the edges thin. 

 

She didn’t even want to say the words--to admit the truth out loud, so mortified was she. 

 

“The scars are real,” Bronn said gently, and she paused in her work so he could speak. “He’s pretty self-conscious about them, too. By the looks of his expression, you did a number on his pride just now.”

 

Sansa closed her eyes and tried to swallow the guilt that clogged her throat.

 

“Oh my god,” she said for the third time, unable to come up with anything else. Then, “I can’t believe I just did that.”

 

Bronn laughed.

 

“Neither can I. The last time I saw someone make him that mad was a biker down in Florida when we took a road trip. He sent the biker to the hospital we had to skip town.”

 

Sansa dabbed at the latex, making sure it looked exactly how she wanted it to before she would let it dry.

 

“What did the biker do to make him mad?”

 

Bronn’s grin crinkled his eyes at the corners. 

 

“Teased him about the scars,” he said with a chuckle. 

 

“Is he nicer to little college girls like me?” Sansa tried to joke, but it was hard. She waved her hand at Bronn’s face to get the latex to dry faster.

 

“Well, I don’t rightly know,” he said, his brows furrowing. “He doesn’t talk to women much. Having half your face melted off is kind of a hindrance to pillow talk, you know?”

 

“Gee, thanks Bronn, I feel so much better now.”

 

Bronn laughed even louder at her sarcasm, and he slapped a hand against her shoulder good-naturedly.

 

“Hey, you fucked up, we all do it.”

 

“Yeah, but I…  _ screwed _ up and hurt someone’s feelings. _ I don’t just go around doing that, Bronn _ .” Sansa pried up the edges of the latex and folded them over to crease the sides. Then she scooped up some dark red grease paint and braced one hand on his forehead. “Sit still or this is going to look like… like… Just sit still.”

 

He did as she told him, and she spread the paint thinly in the bottom of the cut. When she paused to pick up a lighter color he spoke again.

 

“So apologize. What could it hurt?”

 

Sansa closed her eyes briefly, wondering how painful  _ that _ would be, to both her and Sandor. Shouldn’t she just let it go? Finish the makeup and slink out of there with her tail between her legs before he could see her?

 

But no, she knew better than that. She wasn’t raised in a barn--when you hurt someone, you apologized.

 

“Crap, Bronn, I don’t even know where to start.” She dabbed the bright red blood color inside the cut on top of the maroon, and stood back to admire her work but barely saw it for the thoughts clouding her mind.

 

“How about you go up to him and say, ‘Sandor, I’m really sorry for acting like a complete half wit and trying to touch your scars like they were a bloody science experiment.’ That wouldn’t be hard, right?”

 

Sansa glared at him for a moment but then went back to work, deciding relying on Bronn for advice wasn’t the right thing to do. She’d have better luck getting apology guidance from the chair he was sitting on.

 

After finishing Bronn’s cuts and adding some bruising for good measure, Sansa did the makeup for a man and a woman who had also participated in the fight scene, and then cleaned up, wondering where Margaery had gone. But as she was zipping her case closed she saw the mad rush of actors and actresses dash down the hallway and decided she’d missed her chance to speak to her friend, as the play was about to start again.

 

She had intended to find a seat and watch the rest of the play, but instead she poked her head through a side door and searched the audience until she found Sandor.

 

He was looking straight at her.

 

Sansa nearly squeaked as she pulled her head back from the doorway.

 

_ Oh my god _ . He’d seen her looking for him.  _ Could this be any more embarrassing?? _

 

She walked the long way around and entered the theater near the top row of seats, dropping into one of the many empty spaces all the way in the back. As she watched the play she tried to figure out what to say, to formulate the apology in case she had an opportunity to look him in the eyes and recite one.

 

The play itself was good--funny at times, sad, with a good amount of drama. When the last set was wheeled onto the stage Sansa almost gasped, being one of the few people in the audience who knew that the hand-carved bed’s footboard and headboard had been specially made for Margaery’s play. She couldn’t tell what the scene was on both pieces, but she recognized fine craftsmanship even from the back row.

 

Margaery and Bronn’s final scene, after a horrible fight in which he was badly injured, nearly made her cry. She had to admit that Bronn had a knack for acting, while Margaery… 

 

Well, Margaery had a knack for costumes. Her dress was gorgeous.

 

When Bronn’s character had breathed his last and the curtain swept in from the sides, Sansa rose with the rest of the audience and clapped until she thought she had bruised her hands. She kept clapping as the curtain reopened and the entire cast stood in one long line, hands high until they bowed as a group. Then the curtain was closing again, and the lights in the theater were coming on so people could see their way out.

 

Sansa wasn’t sure what to do, so she walked out to where she had parked in the back of the theater department and waited to see who came out. One by one the actors and actresses filed out, got into their cars and left, until all that was left was her small car, Margaery’s little hatchback, Bronn’s dingy, beat up Bronco, and an old pickup in immaculate condition.

 

Sure enough, it wasn’t long before she watched Margaery back out of the rear door, holding it open as first Bronn stepped out holding one side of the headboard, and then Sandor’s massive frame following with the other side.

 

Sansa got out of her car and, upon seeing her, Margaery clicked over in her heels to give her a hug.

 

“Thank you thank you thank you! The makeup was amazing; your work really made the scene!”

 

Sansa hugged her friend back as she watched Bronn and Sandor go back inside. Quickly she pushed Margaery away, holding onto the other woman’s shoulders, her words coming out in a rush.

 

“Margaery, Bronn said I should apologize but I don’t know what to say and oh my god I can’t believe I did that to him and the things I said oh my god oh my god.”

 

“Hey hey, it’s okay,” Margaery said, smiling. “Sandor’s a nice guy, understanding. He’s just mean-looking. But I’ve seen him smile,” she chucked Sansa underneath the chin like a child, “So I know you can win him over. Just use that gorgeous smile of yours and he’ll forget you even mentioned the scars.”

 

Sansa rolled her eyes. Margaery thought everything could be solved with sultry eyes.

 

But she didn’t have time to protest as soon the two men were carrying out the footboard, and Sansa was able to see in the orange glow of the outdoor light that the scene on it was three hounds playing beneath a flying bird.

 

She had been right--the work was gorgeous, and it had been sanded and polished just until smooth but not so much that it would have sparkled under the overhead lights of the theater. The posts were topped with decorative pieces of wood made on a lathe, which she was certain he had done himself judging by the quality of the rest of the piece.

 

Soon Margery was hugging her again, though this time it was to tell her she’d see her in class on Monday.

 

She and Bronn drove out of the parking lot at the same time, leaving Sansa standing alone, looking anywhere but at the tall man leaning against the tailgate of his truck.

 

There was no help for her. She clasped her hands in front of her and slowly walked up to him, keeping her eyes on her feet.

 

She cleared her throat when his feet came into view, and she paused, taking a deep fortifying breath before looking up at his face.

 

_ Well _ , she thought,  _ at least he doesn’t look angry. _

 

“I’m sorry,” she said. Then her mind went blank, and she stood there with her mouth open as though she was going to say something, but there was nothing left to say. She closed her mouth and waited, looking intently into his eyes so as not to examine the way the light cast shadows on the scars underneath the hair he combed to that side of his face.

 

He had his arms crossed over his chest and his mouth was set into a firm line.

 

Until he spoke, and when he did she winced.

 

“That’s it?”

 

“What do you mean, _ that’s it _ ? I’m apologizing for what I said earlier, for what I did.”

 

“But your apology is just,  _ I’m sorry _ ?” 

 

Sansa gaped like a fish, suddenly feeling less like she had even the smallest amount of control over the situation. His voice was deep but as she listened to it, she also didn’t hear any anger in it, no malice whatsoever.

 

“What do you want? Me to grovel and beg for your forgiveness? Look, Sandor, I’m apologizing for the way I treated you earlier. Had I known these--” she waved in the general vicinity of his scars, “--were real I never would have said anything about them. It’s just, I was hired to do special effects makeup and I didn’t expect to… I didn’t expect to see someone so…”

 

Sandor stood tall then, his hands dropping to his jeans pockets.

 

“Mangled?” he supplied. “Deformed? Disfigured? Go on, I’ve heard it all.”

 

He was baiting her, and Sansa was getting angry.

 

“You suck at accepting apologies,” she spat at him, crossing her own arms over her chest.

 

“Perhaps that’s because I’ve never gotten any.”

 

His voice was quiet and controlled, but behind them Sansa suddenly heard what he didn’t have to say--that that was likely the undeniable truth of it. He was bitter about the scars, and had never received any apologies for the hand life had dealt him.

 

It was just so incredibly… sad.

 

She drew in a deep breath and turned away, wondering how to make this situation better. Without his face--half scarred, half hard and expressionless, though in its own way ruggedly handsome--staring down at her, she had an easier time thinking.

 

And she finally drew on lessons taught to her long ago by her father.  _ Make it right _ .

 

She turned back to Sandor and thought she detected the corner of his mouth falling, as though while she was turned he had been smiling at her.

 

But no, that couldn’t be. He was sullen, cold, and apparently unforgiving.

 

Well, she was just going to have to show him what civility looked like. As she looked up into those silvery gray eyes she smiled, though not in the way Margaery had told her to. No, she smiled to show him she wasn’t a threat. 

 

Although as she remembered the way her hand had felt in his earlier in the office, her smile faltered.

 

Clearing her throat, she said, “Let me buy you coffee, and we’ll be even.”

 

There  _ was _ a smile. There; at the corner of his mouth, almost hidden by his mustache and beard. 

 

Sansa narrowed her eyes at him, and as he stared at her with that tiny smile on his face she slowly crossed her arms over her chest again, turning her face slightly to the side while trying to puzzle him out.

 

But then he spoke, and she glimpsed the truth of the matter.

 

“Make it a milkshake and we have a deal.”

 

He smiled then, and Sansa was so shocked she laughed.

 

“You--you beast! You were making me squirm on purpose!” 

 

She put her hands on her hips, realization dawning on her that the last five minutes had been him putting on an act. “I can’t believe this! You’d make me come over here and grovel, when… when…” The way he was looking at her made her insides flip. There was something besides irritation, something besides good humor and a smile there.

 

“When you really didn’t have to apologize? Yeah, about that--I was over it pretty fast.”

 

He laughed as her mouth dropped, and he stood away from his truck, drawing a few inches closer to her.

 

“But no, I  _ did _ have to apologize… I can’t believe you. Did Bronn know about this? You should have heard the things he said to me in the office.”

 

Sandor ran a hand down his face as though he was trying not to laugh too hard and entirely blow his cool cover.

 

“Yeah, he told me.” He took another step closer, his head tilting down to look at her. “He said you looked ready to cry at what you’d done.”

 

Sansa had to look up at him. She’d never met someone so tall, and she wasn’t a short person herself. She was as tall as Margaery when the other woman wore her stilettos, and just an inch or two shorter than Bronn. But on Sandor she barely reached his shoulder. 

 

“I was. I did. I mean,” she stammered, “I was really, really upset, Sandor. I am so sorry for the things I said.”

 

But he just smiled, and surprised her by tapping the tip of her nose with a large finger.

 

“What, that you think my scars are… what did you say? Fantastic? Lifelike?” His eyes widened briefly at the last word, and he smiled, the skin beneath his hair pulling tight. “How could I be upset when someone tells me my scars look amazing and wants to touch them?” His smile hovered now somewhere in the area of good humor, disbelief, and attraction. It made Sansa blush at the same time it made her chuckle.

 

He really was handsome, and the scars… She really  _ did _ want to touch them.

 

“So, about that milkshake…”


End file.
